


It Happened Thus

by autocatic



Category: Tarzan (1999)
Genre: Animals, Forests, Harm to Animals, Henry V is out of the question, M/M, No family link, People Change People, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, and because who the hell kills their cousin, because it wasn’t mentioned in the movie, okay just found out that tarzan and clayton aren’t related in the 1999 film or the spin-off series, wild life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autocatic/pseuds/autocatic
Summary: When you’re in the jungle, you play by its rules. That was the only way to survive, Clayton believed; for all animals were savage, brainless and unpredictable. But, slowly, and before he could realize it, his own adamantine beliefs began to change.(POSTPONED UNTIL OCTOBER.)
Relationships: Clayton & Tarzan (Disney), Clayton/Tarzan (Disney)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There ain’t enough Clayton/Tarzan fics, so I had to do something about it.

William Clayton was not one to tolerate nuisances, so when Jane Porter, the researcher and daughter of the professor, began babbling on as she looked at a herd of elephants through a pair of binoculars, he had to put an end to that. 

It had only been a week since he’d met the professor and his daughter, and he was already sick of them and their bubbly ways. Both of them had been treating the expedition as though it were a vacation.  _It is the damned jungle, for God’s sake!_ But, although overwhelmingly annoyed, he reminded himself of his sole purpose for companioning Professor Porter and his perky daughter; reminded himself of the great prize, which was a gorilla’s head worth three-hundred pounds sterling. People were willing to pay thousands and thousands, and any price demanded, for gorilla parts on the black market. That was enough to urge the poacher on.

“Ms. Porter,” said he, “would you keep quiet for a moment. I cannot concentrate when you’re talking so loudly!”

Jane turned to look at their guide, Clayton, who had his nose in a map. “But these elephants are just so fascinating!”

“Yes, yes,” said Clayton. “So is finding the location of the gorillas, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jane gave the binoculars back to her father. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Clayton flipped the map over and traced his fingers across it. “We’re already here,” he muttered to none but himself. Then, he took a look at his surroundings; tress, bushes, a lake, wildflowers -- but there was not a single gorilla. “Not one, damned gorilla!” 

Jane winced. “Uh, Clayton--”

“What!” the hunter shouted. “What now, Jane?! I am not in the mood for--” Clayton felt a pressure on his shoulder, and something furry touched his face. Through the corners of his eyes, he saw what was on his shoulder. “--your blathering.”

“It’s a _baboon!_ ” Jane exclaimed excitedly. “It’s a baboon and it’s adorable!”

The professor gawked at the small baboon perched on Clayton’s shoulder. “Oh, maybe it knows where the gorillas are!”

Clayton ran a palm across his face when the professor said that. God, was the humidity affecting his brain? “It’s a baboon, Professor! It only knows how to eat, mate and excrete waste!”

The baboon jumped off of Clayton’s shoulder. It kept still, studying the pair of father and daughter, before walking over to Jane and climbing up onto her shoulder.

Jane giggled when the baboon began touching her face with its small hands. “Daddy, look how adorable!”

“Aw! It likes you, Janey!”

Unexpectedly and abruptly, the baboon wrapped his arms around Jane’s head, blocking air passage as it squeezed tight. Jane panicked.

“I can’t breathe! Daddy, I can’t breathe!” she grabbed the baboon by its back and tried to pluck it off her face. The tiny baboon was way stronger than what it looked like; it had an awful stench; it bit Jane’s head with its canines. The professor tried to help his daughter, but failed quite miserably.

Clayton approached Jane and wrapped a sturdy hand around the baboon’s neck, forcefully pulling it off Jane’s face. The baboon squeaked and shrieked in pain, and swung its legs back and forth. “Ms. Porter, this little thing is a savage, stupid creature! Not an adorable, little monkey to play with!” The hunter kept a tight grip around the baboon’s neck, tightening it absentmindedly.

“That’s enough, Clayton!” cried Jane. “You’re hurting it! Let it go!”

Clayton did so. And the baboon, hurt and terrified, hastily galloped away on all fours.

Jane took a shaky breath. She felt a sensation of wetness on her head, and when she touched the wet area, blood coated her fingers. The baboon had sunk its teeth into her scalp; deep enough to wound. She gasped. “I’m bleeding! Oh, God, I’m bleeding!”

Professor Porter ran to his daughter. “Sweetheart, don’t panic! We have medical supplies at camp!” he reminded her, his tone appalled.

“Daddy, hold me,” she said, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Her father supported her weight, and placed a hand on her back to keep her on her feet.

Clayton untied his cravat and handed it to the professor. “Put some pressure on the wound,” he said. “And let that be a lesson: never trust a ferocious animal, whether it be small or not.”

The professor pressed the cravat on his daughter’s wound. “Are we going to resume our journey, Mr. Clayton?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he said, disappointed. “We’re heading back to camp. Tomorrow, we shall pick up where we left--”

A noise in the bushes caused him to stop short in the conclusion of his sentence. His hand immediately traveled to his holstered pistol.

“Did you hear that?” asked Clayton.

The look of sheer fright on the professor’s face spoke instead of his words. Clayton turned and walked to a nearby bush, which rattled and clattered. Something was hiding there, for sure.

Clayton cocked his pistol and inched a step closer to where the noise came from.

He’d expected another monkey to emerge from the bush, but what he saw was not a monkey, nor an animal of any kind. It was… a man.

The professor’s jaw hung open in utter surprise when the man emerged from the bush, walking on all fours; putting the entirety of his weight on his knuckles --  _like a gorilla! _He wore nothing but a loincloth, and his physique was lean and muscular. The man -- _the ape?_ \-- circled around Clayton, sniffing and surveying him.

“What the hell is-- What is this!”

The professor sat his daughter down on the ground, against a tree, and approached the wild man. “Look at him!” Professor Porter said, staring astoundingly at the ape-man. “Moves like an ape, but looks like a man! He could be the missing link!”

The ape-man looked perplexedly at the professor, then at Clayton, then back at the professor.

Clayton had seen much more curios things in his lifetime; a barbarian ape-man didn’t really astonish him. But, if that wild, uncivilized man could speak English, that would more than astonish him.

Clayton cleared his throat and leaned down. “Who. Are. You,” he asked.

The ape-man blinked. He got up onto his feet, standing erect. “Who-are-you,” he said. “ _Whoareyou!_ ” 

“No, no, no,” Clayton shook his head.

“ _Nonono!_ ” said the man, imitating Clayton’s gravelly voice.

“Goddammit!” shouted Clayton.

“ _Goddammit!_ ” imitated the ape-man.

“Who. Are. You!” Clayton jabbed his index finger over and over into the man’s bare chest to punctuate every word.

The ape-man seemed not to sense nor understand Clayton’s annoyance. He was eyeing Clayton’s hand; the one that hit his chest. He took hold of the said hand, brought it in front of his face and studied it with attentive eyes.

Clayton frowned in confusion. “This is a hand. You’ve never seen one before?”

The man placed his own hand over Clayton’s, straightening his bent fingers. He stared at their hands, then at Clayton. His eyes wee focused on the hunter’s face, surveying every part of it; his eyes, nose, mustache, lips, chin, jaw, and every other part and little detail. It made Clayton’s frown deepen.

“What exactly are you doing?”

He pressed the side of his head against Clayton’s broad chest, burying his ear in it. “Stop!” demanded Clayton, pushing the man away. The ape-man pointed at his chest, beaming.

A look of puzzlement showed on Clayton’s face. “Huh?”

Instead of explaining, seeing as he couldn’t articulate any words, the wild man drew Clayton’s head to his chest.

Clayton pulled away in an instant. “Stop!” The ape-man took a step back, tilting his head to the side, knitting his eyebrows and looking hurt.

“Clayton!” Jane’s voice called in a weary tone. “Who is that?”

“Does it look like I know!”

“He’s an ape, but a man! An ape-man!” said the professor.

The ape-man crouched down and made his way to Jane, ape-like. “Clayton!” he said. “Clayton!”

Jane chuckled and shook her head. “No, he is Clayton,” she pointed at their guide.

The man turned his head to the hunter, the real Clayton, then walked back to where he stood. “Clayton,” he said, again. That was about the only word he knew, apparently.

“Yes, yes,” said Clayton, unimpressed. “I am Clayton.”

A beam plastered across the wild man’s face, and he jumped to his feet. “Tarzan!”

Clayton blinked. He arched an eyebrow.

“Tar--” the ape-man gestured at himself, “--zan.”

“Tarzan?”

The man, Tarzan, began jumping up and down exhilaratingly; in a simian manner. “Tarzan,” he pointed at his face, “Clayton! Tarzan, Clayton!”

Jane (still a bit dizzy) and the professor joined Tarzan; jumping up and down with him, hysterically mimicking whatever he was doing.

“Enough!” shouted Clayton, irked. “Say goodbye to your friend; we’re going back to camp.” Clayton had already turned and started off in the other direction.

The professor frowned. “Mr. Clayton,” said he, “this man has been living most -- if not all -- of his life in the jungle. He must know where the gorillas are!”

Clayton stopped. He allowed himself a moment to think of how useful Tarzan could be. The professor was right, indeed. Tarzan must, at least, know where the gorillas mainly frequent.

He turned back around and walked over to Tarzan. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, old boy, do you know where the _gorillas_ are?” stressing the word ‘gorillas.’

“ _Go-rrri-las!_ ” Tarzan imitated, then uttered some incoherence in a simian tongue. 

“Yes!” said Clayton. “Yes, gorillas. Where are they?” 

Tarzan furrowed his eyebrows.

Sighing, Clayton combed a hand through his hair, stopping at his nape. “Professor, I don’t think he would take us to the gorillas; he can’t understand a word I say.”

“You should speak in his language,” said the professor. He crouched down, hunched over and leaned on his knuckles; then began making ‘gorilla’ sounds. 

Judging by the furrowed look on Tarzan’s face, he couldn’t decipher the language that Professor Porter spoke in. 

“Professor,” Clayton said, gesturing for Professor Porter to stop, “thank you for your efforts, but I don’t think he will--”

An elephant trumpet echoed through the area, sharp and strong. Clayton remembered that they were in an elephants’ territory. 

The earth began trembling and quaking as the herd of elephants ran away toward the west. Then, Clayton saw Tarzan gallopaway toward the same direction.

“Where is he?” asked the professor, when he realized that Tarzan was no longer in sight. 

“Gone,” answered Clayton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated. I hope you have a good day/night!


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Clayton woke late in the morning. He went out of his tent. He yawned, then groaned; for his nick was stiff.

He must have slept on it the wrong way, he surmised. 

The professor and his daughter were laughing about something, but Clayton didn’t really care. 

He sat on a stump of wood in front of a long mirror that he’d propped against a tree, and sloshed his face with water from a pail, rinsed it thoroughly, then rinsed his mouth. He lathered up his face with shaving soap, then shaved his stubble with a hunting knife. After washing his face and feeling his smooth stubble, he wetted his hair; then ran a small comb through it, combing it back. Then, he combed his mustache. Once finished, he stared at his reflection for sometime. Not with appreciative eyes, but rather a disgusted gaze.

He returned to his tent, dressed in neat attire and cleaned his boots with a wet cloth before wearing them. Afterwards, he went back outside, poured himself a cup of the tea Jane had made, and sat down in a chair, unfolding a map and studying it diligently. 

With a pen, he drew circles around the areas that they hadn’t discovered yet (which were a lot).

Jane was sketching something with a chalk on a blackboard, and Professor Porter stood next to her, telling her about something in a soft voice.

“Professor, Ms. Porter,” said Clayton, standing up; folding the map and pushing it into his pocket, “we are going to carry on with yesterday’s journey. Take anything you might need and let’s go.”

Jane hurried to get her satchel and put her sketchbook, her pencils and whatnot in it. The professor hung his binoculars around his neck and grabbed a stick that he “used” to move the plants. (He never used it, really; Clayton would always clear the way for them.)

Before leaving, Clayton wore all his weapons; pistol in the holster, hunting knife and a machete in the belt, and a rifle strapped to his back. The three of them, two cheery and one wary, left the camp to resume their journey through the African rainforest. 

* * *

Tarzan couldn’t stop thinking about the strangers he’d met near the lake. He tried to forget about the encounter altogether, but he couldn’t. He, simply, couldn’t. 

They were like him. Clayton was like him.

Tarzan looked at his hand, the one that he’d touched Clayton’s with, then closed his eyes. He could see his face; he could hear his voice, too. 

Tarzan smiled. 

“Why so quiet, T,” said Terk, the gorilla who was Tarzan’s cousin and childhood friend. She lay lazily on Tantor’s back, the elephant whose back was seen as a lounge by both his friends. “You’ve been suspiciously silent all day. C’mon, boy, spit it out. What’s gotten you down in the dumps?”

“Nothing, Terk. It’s-- it’s nothing.”

Terk sat up. “Well, it sure sounds like something!”

“I hate to agree with her, but she’s right,” said Tantor. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you,” whispered Tarzan. “But promise you’ll never tell anybody!”

“Sure, T. Go on,” said Terk. 

Tarzan lied down on the green grass and looked solemnly at the sky. 

“Oh, crap. That’s not good; he always does that before he tells us something really terrible,” Terk said, causing Tantor to frown.

“Yesterday,” began Tarzan, “I met some strangers.”

“Yeah, and?” both Terk and Tantor said. 

“They looked--” he lifted his hand, gazing at it, “--like me! They had hands like mine; faces like mine. They were like me!”

“Hairless and odd-looking?” asked Terk. 

“Yes.”

Terk and Tantor looked at each other, worry present on their faces. “And what are you gonna do about that?” asked Terk. 

“I--” Tarzan felt a sort of sorrow settle upon his soul, “--don’t know.”

“Do you want to see them again?” asked Tantor. 

Tarzan thought about that for some moments. He thought of the three strangers, thought of Clayton; of his eyes and hands and voice. “Maybe?” said he. 

“ _Maybe?!_ ” Terk exclaimed. “Maybe, you say! Next thing, you’ll tell us you wanna hang out with the crocodiles down at the swamp!”

Tarzan climbed onto Tantor’s back and sat beside his angry friend. “Terk, I’ve never seen people who look like me. This-- this might never happen again!”

Terk folded her arms over her chest and turned her head away from Tarzan. Tantor, however, seemed to sympathize with Tarzan. “Come on, Terk, don’t give him a hard time!”

“I’m not! I’m just sayin’ he shouldn’t trust strangers! He doesn’t know them; they could be seriously bad and try to hurt him,” Terk said to Tantor. “I promised Aunt Kala to keep him out of trouble.”

“You’re overprotective of him!” said Tantor. “He’s a grown ape. He can take care of himself.”

“Oh, _yeaaah_ , he sure is _grown_!” Terk said. “Don’t let his appearance fool you, he’s a two-year-old inside!”

“You’re worrying too much,” said Tantor.

“Well, he can be really naïve sometimes!”

“Hey, hey!” said Tarzan. “I’m gonna be alright, I promise. They’re good! They’re not bad at all, and they won’t try to hurt me.”

Terk regarded Tarzan with an uneasy look. Tarzan’s eyes were twinkling bright; shining with a unwavering eagerness and excitement. She didn’t want to cause its lively light to falter. “Alright, alright!” said she. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Tarzan nodded enthusiastically before embracing his friend, squeezing her between his arms. The frown on Terk’s face had softened into a small smile and she enclosed her arms around Tarzan’s back. Tantor joined his friends, wrapping his trunk around them in a hug. 

* * *

Professor Porter and his daughter made their way through the forest behind Clayton, who was pushing large, overgrown plants and vines aside with a machete, sometimes chopping tangled ones along with overgrown weeds. Many plants and weeds obstructed their path, but Clayton was an expert at dealing with such matters. 

They came across a few of the dangerously venomous Gaboon vipers (a subspecies of the Viperidae snakes found in many parts of Africa), but thankfully managed to tread carefully past them without drawing unwanted attention. 

“That reminded me of my days in the Zambian jungles,” said Clayton. “Lots of those venomous demons. They bit me, twice. I would suck the poison out and still feel sick for days. But I never stopped; I continued my trek along the Zambezi river. Took me weeks to reach the end of it. I saw many a wonder through my journey across the African continent. Saw lions, great rhinoceros, zebras, giraffes, hippos, chimpanzees--” he began naming tons of wild animals, “--mandrills, buffaloes, impalas, elephants, antelopes, leopards, panthers, cheetahs, caracals, and all kinds of beasts and animals. I hunted, a lot; and slept with my eyes open every night. That’s when I knew that I was born for Africa, and Africa was created for--”

A man swung on a tree vine before them, leaping from one vine to another until finally dropping down to the ground, right in front of Clayton. 

“--me,” finished the hunter. 

“Look, Janey! It’s Tarzan!” said the professor, happily. “The good ape boy! He’s come to help us, sure enough!”

Jane ran to Tarzan, stopping in front of him and grasping his forearms. “We’re looking for gorillas!” she said. “Go-ri-llas!”

Tarzan blinked. He nodded. “Gorillas,” he said.

”Where are they?” Jane asked, enunciating each word as slow as she could. 

Tarzan blinked. He turned to look at Clayton, who was looking at him expectantly. “Clayton!” he said. “Claaayton!”

Clayton sighed. “It’s no use, Ms. Porter. He won’t understand whatever you say.”

“We can teach him!” said Jane. 

Clayton gave a crinkled look. “Teach him? How so?”

“We can teach him how to speak, so he would understand what we say! We’ll teach him the simple fundamentals of English. It wouldn’t take us longer than a week to do that,” said Jane. “The ship wouldn’t be arriving until three weeks or so. We have time!”

Jane was right; they did have time. Moreover, Tarzan could be very advantageous to them if he understood their speech. 

“Alright,” said Clayton. “You have one week.”

* * *

During the first lesson, Tarzan sat in wooden chair (he crouched on it, really) in front of a projection screen. Jane operated the slide projector, making an image appear on the screen. Tarzan, bewildered and fascinated, stared at it with wide eyes. 

“Now, look here, Tarzan,” said the professor, holding a pointing stick toward the screen, where a picture of a street in London was shown. “City,” he enounced. “City.”

“City,” repeated Tarzan. 

The next image was of an English gentleman whose hat Tarzan found funny. “Man,” slowly uttered the professor. 

“Man,” repeated Tarzan. 

Clayton watched as the professor taught Tarzan the pronunciations of various words. He charged his pipe with tobacco, lit it and inhaled. 

When an image of a man and a woman dancing arose on the screen, Tarzan goggled at it. He turned his head to Clayton, before getting off his chair and rushing over to the hunter, grabbing his hands and dancing around with him, spinning mostly. 

His face was so close to Clayton’s that Clayton could see every aspect of his face; the dark green shade of his eyes, his thin eyelashes; the sharp bridge of his nose and the light stubble on his face. 

Clayton pushed Tarzan away, a hand drawing his pipe from between his lips. “Stop this childish act!” he scolded, before turning to leave.

Tarzan tilted his head to the side, creasing his eyebrows, frowning. He returned to his chair and crouched down on it. 

* * *

Clayton didn’t know why Tarzan would often gaze at him for long, sometime staring. It evoked a feeling of uneasiness within Clayton, but he didn’t think much of it. 

He sat on a log of wood, sharpening his machete with a stone, when Tarzan approached him; a smile on his face. Clayton raised an eyebrow. “What is it, old boy?”

Tarzan tipped his chin toward the machete. 

“Oh, this?” said Clayton. “I’m sharpening it, so it cuts…faster.”

Tarzan crouched down beside Clayton on the log, watching him silently. 

Sometime passed. Tarzan still watched. 

A colorful bird landed on the ground, and began pecking at something in the grass. Clayton’s attention was drawn to the bird. He marveled at it; for its colors were brilliant, as if his feathers were soaked in a rainbow. It looked like a bee-eater, but Clayton wasn’t sure. 

Tarzan saw the look of absorption and fascination the hunter had on his face. “Clayton like birds?” he asked. 

“Well, everyone likes birds,” Clayton answered. “They’re quite wondrous.”

Tarzan beamed. “I know where birds are!”

Clayton blinked. 

Tarzan jumped off the log and gestured for Clayton to follow. “Come with Tarzan,” said he. 

Clayton wanted to decline, but for some reason, he couldn’t. Perhaps it was the delightful smile on Tarzan’s face, or the undeniable desire to see more beautifully varicolored, tropical birds. 

He followed Tarzan, but Tarzan was fast as he galloped ahead speedily.

They stopped in front of a giant tree; its vines hung low, and its trunk was a reddish brown. It looked to be an ancient tree. Tarzan took hold of a vine, then looked at Clayton and said, “Go up!”

Clayton creased his features in question, but when Tarzan began climbing upward, he grasped a vine and followed Tarzan up the tree.

When they neared to the treetop, Tarzan reached over to a large branch, jumped for it and hoisted himself onto it, then gestured for Clayton to do the same. Clayton extended an arm above his head to reach a branch, then leapt onto it and pulled himself upward. Tarzan smiled warmly at him before moving a hand into the foliage of the tree, forming a small hole. “Here,” he whispered, then thrust his head through the hole. Clayton followed him. 

What he saw when he stuck his head into the hole was undoubtedly the most breathtaking view he’d ever witnessed. Birds of various colors and species flew around, some hovering in place, others resting on branches of large, high trees. 

Each species of birds had their own territorial area, but they all shared the sky. Clayton recognized some of the birds; recognizing kingfishers was simple, as their feathers were vividly colorful, their beaks long, and tails short; while sunbirds’ curved beaks and long tails had caused them stand out among the other birds. There was one, particular bird that had attracted Clayton’s attention, and it was was a green-colored turaco -- a banana-eater. Its feathered crest, short beak, long tail and deep coloration were what made it easily recognizable. 

The tropical bird brought back old memories; some of them were pleasant, others were deeply woeful. Clayton surveyed the bird with grief in his eyes, for it reminded him of the woman that he’d loved -- of his deceased wife. The brightly colored turacos were her favorite birds. She’d always tell him of how much she admired turacos and their various colorings. Eventually, her keen interest in ornithology drove her to accompany Clayton on one of his journeys to Africa. Clayton had refused to let her accompany him at first, said that the jungle was no place for a woman. But, eventually, and after persistent pleading from his wife, he agreed to bring her along. 

The memory of her horrible death made Clayton’s heart clench. She was killed by the savage beasts in the forest, and she’d been alone; powerless, helpless and vulnerable. 

Her corpse lay lifelessly in the mud when he found her, her skull torn open, eyes bulged out and face unrecognizable, bloodied, grotesque and inhumanly deformed. The flesh of her abdomen was ripped off and her insides were visible. Too visible. The mud was not a shade of brown; it was a dark red. Her blood had flowed out of her body and merged with the mud, turning it into a deep, gloomy red. 

Clayton ran to her and took her dead body into his arms, screaming, wailing, crying for help. Help was no use, he knew. She was dead. She was gone. 

She was killed. The barbaric monsters killed her. 

“Clayton,” called a voice, soft and low. 

Clayton turned his head to meet the eyes of a concerned Tarzan. “Yes?”

“Clayton looks sad,” said Tarzan, inching his face closer to Clayton’s. 

“I’m alright.”

Tarzan gazed into Clayton’s eyes as though he could see something in there. He brought a hand up and caressed Clayton’s jaw mellowly; his intense eyes fixed on the hunter’s face. 

The gesture surprised Clayton. He didn’t really hate it, but the way Tarzan’s green orbs were looking at him with sympathy, compassion and affection made him feel an unpleasant twinge in his heart. Why was Tarzan so kind and nice to him? He’s lived all his life in the jungle; he shouldn’t be caring or tender!

He batted Tarzan’s hand away, then sighed sharply. “Let’s return to the camp,” said he. 

When they arrived at camp, Clayton hastened to his tent. Tarzan stood still, gazing up at the stelliferous sky. He was about to leave when Jane walked up to him. 

“Where have you been?” she asked in her gentle voice. 

“Watching birds in tree,” answered Tarzan. 

“That sounds like fun,” Jane said with a smile. “Take me with you next time.”

“Clayton was sad.”

Jane furrowed her eyebrows. “Why is that?”

“Birds make Clayton… sad?” 

“Oh, Tarzan,” Jane chuckled. “Birds don’t make people sad. If anything, it’s quite the opposite.”

“Tarzan do not want Clayton sad,” said Tarzan, miserably. 

“Clayton only wants to see the gorillas,” said Jane. “That would make him really, truly happy.”

“If Clayton see gorillas, he become happy?” 

Jane nodded with eagerness. “Yes!”

Tarzan left immediately after being told that. He was going to show his family and friends of gorillas to Clayton. He didn’t need to rethink it; he would unquestionably do it. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! The next one’s definitely gonna be longer

“Come on, Terk! Just get Kerchak out of the way. That’s all I’m asking!”

“What!” exclaimed Terk, disbelieving.

Tantor, ever the understanding, compassionate elephant, said: “I’d be happy to--”

Before he could finish his sentence, Terk, who sat on his back, leaned over and squeezed his trunk with a strong grip. “Hey!” said she. “Shut your trunk and get me out of here!”

Tantor knew better than to disobey Terk, thus he began walking. Tarzan grasped a vine and climbed it smoothly, then leapt from one to another, following Terk and Tantor. 

“Can you believe that guy?” said Terk. “Drops us like a newborn giraffe, _kerplop_! Now, waltzes in here and expects us to just--”

Tarzan leapt for Tantor’s left tusk, then pulled his body up onto it. “Terk,” said he, “I’m asking you as a friend.”

Terk crossed her arms and turned her gaze away.

When she looked back at Tarzan, she was met with a very pleading look; broadened green eyes, furrowed eyebrows, and slightly puckered lips. “With the face and the eyes and the--” Terk unfolded her arms. “Alright, alright! But don’t make me do anything stupid!”

…

To fulfill Tarzan’s ‘plan’, Terk had to steal one of Jane’s dresses and wear it, then roam around on Tantor’s back to find Kerchak. When they do find him, they would distract him to keep him away from the nests. 

The plan worked. Partly. 

They did find Kerchak, alright; but as soon as the silverback gorilla and leader of the troop saw an ambiguous creature (Terk) on an elephant’s back, he was following them around curiously, which later (much to Terk’s horror) turned into chasing them around insanely. 

_“If I come out of this alive”_ , Terk thought to herself, “ _I’m gonna kill you, Tarzan!”_

* * *

Tarzan leapt onto a thick vine and swung forward, leaping for a much thinner one. It was only a matter of seconds before he arrived at the camp. He saw Clayton, sitting beside Jane, discussing something in argumentative tones. Well, Clayton was arguing, and Jane just looked at him silently, squinting her eyes in thought. 

“…An elephant can easily defeat a rhinoceros! An elephant’s massiveness is not its only weapon. It’s got sharp, big tusks, and four dangerously sturdy legs; and ergo, rhinoceros can’t possibly win the fight. I’m deeply sorry for ravaging your supposition, Ms. Porter, but that’s simple logic.” (He didn’t sound sorry at all.)

Jane nodded, agreeing. After all, her knowledge of which animal would win a fight against another wasn’t quite as… _broad_ as Clayton’s.

Her father concurred with their guide, nodding along, saying, “You explained it well, Mr. Clayton! Elephants, commonly, aren’t seen as strong, powerful animals; but rather as friendly, peaceful creatures. They are very compassionate, and they love to bring joy to others. But if you threaten them, or cause them uneasiness, don’t expect a clement treatment!” 

(Interesting discussion, indeed.)

Tarzan stood up on his feet and walked to where the group was. Jane and the professor greeted him sweetly.

“Go see gorillas now!” he said with enthusiasm.

Jane and Professor Porter looked at each other then erupted into cries of joy together, hugging and spinning cheerfully. 

Meanwhile, Clayton stared at Tarzan in surprise, a bit disbelieving at first. He didn’t say anything.

The group followed Tarzan through the forest, Professor Porter and Jane chatted together, eager and delighted; and Clayton kept looking around cautiously, one hand on his holstered pistol. And when they heard the distant belches and grunts of the great apes, along with the chattering and gibbering of the younger ones, they knew they were not far from the nests. 

Clayton saw big footprints on the mud, along with smaller ones scattered everywhere. Those were the footprints of gorillas. 

The nearer they drew to the nests, the louder the clutter of sounds became. Tarzan took Clayton’s hand in his and pointed to a nearby great tree. “We go up,” he said, ushering Clayton forward, still holding his hand. The latter didn’t seem to mind. 

Clayton and the duo of father and daughter grabbed a tree vine each, and followed Tarzan up the tree. Tarzan was much faster at climbing, but they managed to follow him at a moderate speed.

When they arrived at the top of the tree, a gorilla nest sat before them. At first, they hadn’t noticed the lone brown gorilla sitting in the far end; but when they did, they stared in silence. 

The gorilla turned its head, and its face lit up upon seeing Tarzan. It began walking toward him, and only then, had it noticed Tarzan’s company. 

The gorilla froze. 

Clayton didn’t want to frighten it, so he made his way to the anxious gorilla slowly, careful as to not cross its personal boundaries. Animals wouldn’t appreciate it if someone were to get too close. 

He stood by Tarzan’s side, and looked at the gorilla with marvel in his eyes. It was a female, judging by her frame and facial features. “She is beautiful…” Clayton muttered to none in particular. 

“She is my mother,” said Tarzan.

“Your--” Clayton trailed off. He nodded. 

She must be the gorilla who raised Tarzan from early age. She wasn’t his birth mother, but his mother nonetheless. 

Tarzan walked over to the gorilla, crouched down, and began cooing gently to her. The gorilla’s frightened expression didn’t cease. 

She backed away, looking wearily at the strangers in her nest. She was afraid, and distressed.

“What’s happening!” the professor exclaimed. 

“I don’t know, Daddy!” came his daughter’s answer.

_Loud idiots!_ thought Clayton, glaring at them from the corner of his eye.

“It’s getting away!” said Jane, before darting toward the alarmed gorilla, agitating her even further. 

Clayton caught her by the forearm, pulling her back. “Where do you think you’re going! You’ll only frighten her more!”

“But--!” Jane harrumphed. “You’re right.”

Distracted by holding Jane in place and warning her softly, Clayton didn’t notice that her father (who needed much more supervision than his girl) had crouched down beside Tarzan and was now-cooing to the brown gorilla, mimicking whatever sound Tarzan was making. 

Clayton let go of Jane, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. He watched as Jane joined her father and Tarzan, cooing and gorilla-ing along with them. Tarzan sounded very natural; but the Porter idiots sounded _terrible_.

“What-- what are you doing, you pair of fools! Get up, get--”

Clayton fell silent abruptly.

“Don’t… get up.”


End file.
